


Empty

by bondboy68



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, Gen, Possible alcoholism, Prescription Medication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 21:32:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bondboy68/pseuds/bondboy68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire wakes up hungover. It only gets worse from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty

Mornings. 

Mornings tend to hold a lot of meeting. They bring deadlines and daylight, signify beginnings and new life, they are a necessity of life and even when you sleep through them they are still there. Mornings can be frantic, or lazy, or long, or sudden. They can be bright and rainy and peaceful and foreboding. Most people tend to agree, however, that a morning can tell a lot about how the rest of the day will play out. 

Grantaire woke up hungover. Not overly so. Not one of those day-long, queasy, constant headache, feel like shit no matter what you do hangovers. Just a little sickness that he knew would pass after some aspirin, a glass of water, and if he had time; throwing all of that up before he had to leave for class. Even without being a huge hangover it still wasn’t a fantastic way to wake up. 

Also, it was raining. Steady, hard, fat drops on his window. Not the nice light pitter-pat that tended to lure people back to sleep. That hard rain that instead woke them up and promised more to come. Where was his umbrella? On yeah, in a trashcan (or at this point a landfill). It had broken during the last storm he’d had to traverse. 

Also, he’d made an ass of himself. Again. He tried not to think about. Tried not to think about how he’d gotten drunk and laughed and talked too loudly. Rambled on about meaningless, stupid things. Oh god. He’d cornered Enjolras. Literally cornered him while raving about how Dali is overrated. Like Enjolras even cares. Then he’d tried to convince the man for ten minutes - TEN MINUTES - to do a shot with him. Finally Comberferre had dragged Grantaire away, saving Enjolras. He had to have handlers now to keep him from annoying people. Wonderful. He pushed the memories away and wished he’d at least drunken enough to black out and forget. 

And it was only going to get worse. Somehow, he had a sense of this already. 

His alarm was threatening to get inside of his brain and implode it and he thrashed out angrily to shut it off. Why had he even set it? Class. Right. As his hand searched to slam down upon the large snooze button, it knocked a glass of water from his bed. Too late he tried to catch it. The water drenched part of his bed and pillow and the floor as well. Grantaire groaned and resigned he should just get up instead of trying to sleep around the wet spots. Probably not worth missing class again. 

Grantaire groaned as he pushed himself out of the bed. He braced himself on the wall, waiting for a wave of nausea to pass. 

An image from the night before - Enjolras looking uncomfortable, leaning away from him, looking /disgusted/. 

The nausea reared up and Grantaire lunged, hitting his knee, his toe, and his elbow in the process of making it to the bathroom. On his knees in front of the toilet, he only managed to dry heave.

The heaving eventually turned into dry sobs and he pulled his own hair. 

Why had he done that? Why was he such a moron? Why did he have to constantly embarrass himself? 

He pushed himself to his feet, shaky. At least one thing would mellow out the sinking despair. He opened the medicine cabinet and reached fro the orange prescription bottle. Push, twist, turn over.

Nothing. 

Nothing spilled out into his hand. 

He looked inside.

Empty.

Grantaire could feel his heart sink, could feel the room become all at once tall and imposing and also tight and confining. He could feel the world around him dim as the off-balance chemicals in his mind laughed, as if they’d been waiting and were now swimming around with glee. 

He’d forgotten to refill the prescription. Because he was a moron. Because he was absolutely useless. Because he couldn’t do anything right, even to help himself, and all of his friends hate him. Enjolras hates him. And it’s his own fault. 

The pill bottle dropped into the sink. 

What was the point? Without medication, things wouldn’t get better. He’d be absolutely useless all day, and worse he’d be out in public. 

Defeated, darkened, small, and weak he retreated back to his bed. Didn’t even care about the wet spots. Grantaire pulled the blankets around him like he was in a dream, hadn’t even woken up at all. 

He was worthless. Nobody liked him. Enjolras hated him. He ruined everything he touched.

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this scene in my head for a while about Grantaire being diagnosed with chronic depression and waking up and having a horrible morning only to discover that he is out of meds, and just the feeling he would have from realizing that. Naturally based on similar-ish experiences. Kind of character thing just because I wanted somebody to feel the same way I feel and Grantaire is good for that.


End file.
